


Greyscale

by Higgystar



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Rickyl, h/c
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-27
Updated: 2016-01-27
Packaged: 2018-05-16 15:59:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5831749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Higgystar/pseuds/Higgystar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt from anon on tumblr: They asked for Rickyl with either a motorcycle accident or colourblindness. I found a way to incorporate the two together. </p><p>Living in Alexandria, Daryl has never seen an ounce of colour in his life. It doesn't really affect him much, aside from possibly some poor fashion choices over the years, he just sees the world in greyscale. Colour surely can't be that important, not when even without it, Rick looks nothing less than perfect to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Greyscale

Daryl has never had a problem with it, because he’s never seen the world any differently. To him the world was just greyscale, shadows of black and bright white lights with everything in between. He remembers being smaller; being called stupid for not being able to name the colours of the rainbow, and being ignored as just another dumbass Dixon. It had taken a while before anyone believed him, until a doctor had a name for it and people finally understood that he just didn’t see colour. Monochromy. Rare, odd, untreatable, and Daryl had it. Honestly it had never bothered him, not like he knew any different, the world was literally just black and white to him.

Life was tough, and he survived through it, the lack of colour never really having any affect on his way of living. It wasn’t like he cared how he looked, so long as his clothes fit he didn’t much care for what colour they were. There wasn’t a carer waiting for him after school, instead he’d just gotten by hunting, selling the odd pelt or hunk of meat, helping Merle with odd jobs and just making sure he didn’t end up in jail like his brother. Things had been fine, the usual days of black and white, of nothing much happening, just scraping his way through it all. Even the end of humanity hadn’t held him back much.

Somehow he’d come to be a part of a group, a family, they’d gone and found a safe zone, more people and fuck it was working. Alexandria wasn’t perfect sure, the neat and tidy houses with perfect cookie cutter families still put him on edge, but it’s safe, it’s real and it’s theirs. It works here, even if it’s not the right fit for him, it’s the right fit for Rick, for the kids, especially for the baby. They can breathe here, and survive here, and even if there is an itch under his skin that he can’t quite reach, it works. The world continues spinning, continues running before him in black and white, walkers growling, the kids growing up, and him finding his place in it all.

Shouldn’t really surprise anyone that his place ends up being right beside Rick.

It’s not like in the movies, with longing looks and an orchestra in the background playing them a romantic theme on the strings. Its just life. Through the stress of it all, he prefers always being near Rick, getting to know he’s safe, looking after his kids and trying to do his best to take some of the burden off the other man’s shoulders. It had started in the prison, after Lori, after everything, they’d just clicked, and one night it hadn’t felt odd, or frightening, when Rick had cradled the back of his head and pressed a kiss to his lips. It just felt right. Natural. Like it was meant to end up this way.

Daryl has never believed in fate, heck he still didn’t now really. He just knew that even if this isn’t where he’d ever pictured himself, he can’t see himself anywhere else either. Rick and he just worked together, and even if it had taken him time to get used to it all, now it was so natural he can’t imagine his life without the other man in it. Everything still passes by in black and white, but he swears when he looks over Rick in the middle of the night, pressed into the other man’s heat as he’s held, he can almost imagine what seeing colour is like. Because whatever it is between them, it feels so right. Feels like there is nothing else in the world he can be missing because he’s got Rick. Even if his vision is void of colour, he feels complete anyway.

It feels a lot like the prison did before. Alexandria isn’t as safe, there are fewer fences, less barriers between themselves and the outside world, but they’re working on it. At first the people of this place thought what they had was enough, still too busy sighing over not having a pasta maker, or throwing godamn parties and making small talk. Rick had fixed that, with the rest of them behind him when he’d outright demanded for more walls. They’d been the ones to put it all into play, to send out teams to gather more materials, to get Reg to plan out more walls with deep foundations, to get the lazy assholes of Alexandria to stop thinking they were safe and help out. The people were far too innocent, barely able to look at a walker let alone take one down. But they were training them, building more fences, making more defences to take down any walkers that happen upon them. Rick may not say it, but Daryl knows they’ve added barbed wire to the top of the fences, and more wooden barriers at the main gates to stop any human enemies from outright driving through the wall and repeating history. They weren’t going to lose this place like the prison, Rick won’t let them.

Each day is filled with manual labour, and it’s something he can take part in without feeling like a fish out of water. So he pours over plans with Reg and Deana, he makes sure to help the now heavily pregnant Maggie with their expanding farm area, and when they start planning for the future, it doesn’t feel so much like a pipe dream anymore. It kind of feels like it might happen. Like it could be possible.

Waking every morning besides Rick in bed, having the time to stretch and breathe and not have to immediately get up and check that everyone is okay, feels like heaven compared to being on the road. Rick smiles a lot more now, he looks more like his old self, even if there is still that hard edge underneath it all, Daryl knows he’s feeling a lot more like the person he is meant to be instead of the man he had to be on the road. It’s better like this, when there was no constant overbearing anxiety all the time, and you didn’t have to be on constant alert for danger. Sure they didn’t let their guard down, and they always made sure to be careful, but it’s not as nerve wracking all the time.

Baby Judith is doing better here. Daryl may not know a lot about babies, but he knows like anyone else, they can feed off the emotions of those around them, and not being so constantly stressed has been a blessing for her. She’s probably about a year or so now, and finding her feet and her voice. It’s amusing to watch her, to see her giggle and babble, toddling about the place, stumbling around and giving a gummy grin at her own success. He always tries to get things for her when he goes on runs, wanting his space, needing to get outside of the town for a while, and there was no better reason to go out than to treat Judith to something that would she would have had if she’d been born before the walkers.

It’s why he’s heading out today. It’s been a week since his last run, since he last got to stretch his legs and breathe fully. Rick can read him like an open book, the other man knows he needs it, and he doesn’t even bother protesting anymore, instead Rick kisses him harder than usual, wraps his arms around his waist and holds him for a little while. They stay that way for a moment or two, Rick holding him, pressing against him, sharing body heat with him and letting him know just what will be waiting for him when he returns. There isn’t so much of a rush nowadays. Goodbyes weren’t said with tears in eyes and fingers crossed that it wouldn’t be the final one anymore. Instead they can be slow; they can take their time because this place was secure.

So he presses further into Rick, the pair of them kissing lazily, taking the time to enjoy each other before he has to pull back to breathe. “Don’t go far out.” Rick tells him, and even if it’s not said with the harshness of an order, Daryl knows he wouldn’t dream of disobeying anyway.

“No more than a couple of miles.” He agrees and he already knows the areas surrounding the town well enough to stay safe. Alexandria had been the start of something before the walkers, self-sustaining, and ready for things to grow around it. It hadn’t happened, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t still plenty of places to raid, places that had been planned to help create a real town here.

Rick doesn’t look so tired anymore. He’s got a life in his eyes that had been absent on the road, the hope for a future and everyday it’s growing more and more. It makes Daryl glad to see it, and a swell of pride flares in his chest when Rick gets that look just by looking at him. Another kiss is pressed to his lips; the hands on his sides hold him briefly and give him a reminder of what he’ll be coming home to. “Come back to me safe.” Rick reminds him as he leaves the house, lingering on the porch to see him off on the bike.

“Always do.” And with that he’s on the bike, able to feel Rick watch him drive off through the gates, out into the open world and just like that he’s able to breathe a little easier. It’s not that Alexandria is bad, it’s not that the people were awful, it’s just him. He doesn’t fit. Like the odd piece of the puzzle trying to squeeze in to a gap far too small for it. It had worked out here, in the outside world with his group, with his people that were all odd shapes that didn’t fit into the old gaps of the world just like him. They’d been odd and rough, but it had worked. But when they’d got to Alexandria, there had been spaces for them all, and they’d all fallen into them so easily.

He’d been the odd man out. The rough, dirty, foul mouthed redneck that was fine to tag along with a group of almost feral humans out there amongst the walkers. But in there, where things were the same as the old world, it was difficult. He had never fit in before, and coming to stay in Alexandria had just emphasised it even more. They’d slipped back into place so easily and he’d been happy for them of course, but he hadn’t felt that alone in a long time.

It was Rick who had helped him. Rick who had kissed him, taken him into his arms, into his bed and let him know that even if he couldn’t see where he fit, there was a place for him there. He’d felt it, found that besides Rick was his place, and even if there is still that itch under his skin, it’s worth it. Because Rick is there beside him, soothing the worries, bringing him into his family and making sure he knows that it’s where he fits, and where he’s meant to be. So he may have to take some time away on the bike, just breathing, just away from the others and able to remember who he is; but he knows he’s always going to return home to Rick.

Riding the bike through the trees, he feels better already. Everything washes past him in a blur of grey, the ground beneath him a scattered array of black and white tarmac, the only sound the roar of his bike. It makes him feel alive, it makes him feel like he has a place, he’s not being forced to fit anywhere he wasn’t meant to be, and it helps. The world outside of Alexandria was the same as it always had been for him. The woods, the trees, the grass, everything he’s used to, everything he knows is here and always ready and waiting for him to return when he needs to.

But it’s not all about him. If he’s going to use the fuel for the bike, and spend time outside the safety of the walls, then he’s going to make it worth it. A few miles out there’s an old strip mall, mostly empty, the place mid construction when the virus spread, a place that they use for materials mainly. The fortifications on the fences had been reinforced by everything they’d found here, but with only the bike for transport, Daryl is only hunting for something a lot smaller. The stores are empty, glass window displays showing nothing as he drives right through the main door and down the tiled walkways of the place. No point leaving the bike behind if he didn’t have to. Was a lot safer to have it with him if he could.

Just because the stores are mainly empty, doesn’t mean they don’t have backrooms and warehouses full of stock. People only thought to look in the obvious places sometimes, and even if they’ve scavenged this place before, a lot of the people from Alexandria didn’t like digging too deep. They’re not as prepared for it as his family, they didn’t have that understanding that sometimes the benefits outweighed the risks, and they certainly weren’t prepared enough to take down a crowd of hidden walkers like they were. But he’s lucky, it’s clear today and he can ride the bike right up to the store he wants to raid without any walkers in his sights.

Killing the engine he leaves it in the doorway, already pointing in the direction he intends to leave, and doubling as a blockade should any walkers or people come his way. It covers his ass when he heads inside the store, and lets him feel like he doesn’t have to watch his back so much as he props open the backroom doors to begin his search. The store had never been opened, but there is still plenty in the back, stock ready to hit the shelves for their now never coming opening date. Having the bike means he can’t take the bigger stuff, but it didn’t mean there wasn’t plenty they could use.

Daryl goes through it methodically, shelf by shelf, picking out batteries, pads of paper, books, pens, blankets and anything else he deems worthy of coming home. The larger items he knows they’ll come back for get shoved beneath the shelving, hidden from prying eyes and an easy way to see if there are any other people in the area for them to look out for. The saddlebags get filled easily, and it’s when he’s doing a final scan of the place that he sees it.

There is the corner of a blanket poking out of a box, a light grey in colour to him but he knows it’s probably a soft, light colour to everybody else. Tugging on it he knows it’s perfect when he finds the stuffed cat sewn on one corner, and the fabric is the softest he’s ever felt. A baby blanket, but with a toy on the corner chunky enough for a toddler to grip at and mouth. Judith’s been teething lately, biting and chomping on anything she could lay her hands on, and wailing at every hour of the night because she felt uncomfortable. He knows he wants to help as best he can, and he knows the blanket will help, plus it didn’t hurt that his girl always liked being spoilt rotten and getting new things. She was growing up in a world without a lot of things, and he’d be damned if he wouldn’t get her everything he possibly could to spoil her rotten.

His girl. He doesn’t even feel selfish for calling her that. She’s everyone’s girl, the whole family take care of her when they can, there is never any resentment at having to take care of the baby, and even if there is no blood relation between any of them, he knows they’re all honorary aunts, uncles and everything in-between. At one point the people of Alexandria hadn’t been sure whose daughter she was, and there was even confusion about Carl a couple of times. He blamed it on the hair. Since the kid seems to be copying his current look a lot of the people at home assumed he was Daryl’s kid. The first time had made him snort out a laugh, but then he’d felt a rush of pride when Carl had corrected them, mentioning that Rick may be his father, but Daryl was pretty damned close. He hadn’t told the kid how much it meant to him, they were guys after all, but he made sure to tip the kid’s hat off so he could ruffle his hair on the way past. It was his own brand of affection and Carl knew that.

Stuffing the blanket in the saddlebag he grabs up some more supplies from the baby section. Diapers, both reusable and disposable, more formula, a lot of clothes that would fit her eventually if not now, bottles, another book on kiddie care that he intended to study, as well as a few other bits and pieces he assumed they’d find a use for. You never knew with babies after all and with Maggie and Glenn expecting their own, it was better to start stocking up now for Ass Kicker two while they could.

Loading up the bike he doubles checks himself, scanning the halls of the strip mall one last time before starting up the bike. It seems he’d gotten some attention, a small cluster of walkers were gathering at the entrance he’d used before. Starting the bike he doesn’t feel the need to take them on if he doesn’t have to, they’d probably get stuck inside the mall anyway and it just meant he’d have to deal with it next time. Turning himself around he rides towards the back entrance instead, riding past more empty storefronts and going slowly down the shallow steps that lead him back outside.

The weather seems to have decided to conspire against him. In true Georgia style a band of rain has fallen over him, hard and heavy, and even if he can’t see colour, he can see the dark band of cloud that’s streaking across the sky. It’s harsh, the wind has picked up enough to get his hair in his eyes and he’s always grateful for Aaron’s donation of sunglasses instead of a helmet when he’s on the bike. It might not seem like it does much, but it makes it easier to see when he doesn’t get hair or a bug or the wind in his eyes. The rain soaks him through quickly, fat drops hitting his shirt and making him sigh as he guns the bike, trying to get home just that bit faster to escape the weather.

The road gets darker ahead of him, covered by the rain, becoming slick easily as the water sits on the tarmac. He knows to be careful, he knows the water can make it more dangerous but being cautious just means being out here longer. Still he keeps his head in the right place, hunches his shoulders and knuckles down to get through it. So far as he can see, everything looks fine, looks safe as he continues driving down the road pointed for home.

But that’s the thing. He can’t always see things that are out of place so easily.

He should have known. Should have thought about it. The truck on its side in the middle of the road is easy enough to drive around, the marker being roughly a mile out from home, and he doesn’t think anything of it because nothing has ever happened before. But it’s raining, it’s wet, the puddles are forming in the gouges of the road and when you can’t see colour it’s hard to notice every little thing. So he goes to speed past, and before he can try and correct the slipping of the front wheel on the road, the back is spinning out too.

Daryl has been riding all his life, before it was even legal of him to do so, so it’s not like he hasn’t skidded out before. But there is no gravel on the road, there is no grip for the bike to find and steady itself, instead it’s slick, and hitting the brakes just makes the bike lock up and the tyres slide even more. Before he can think he’s on his side, the bike screeching, engine sputtering as he loses his grip, and it’s like an all over body punch. Hundreds of tiny bites hit his side, catching through clothing, digging into his skin, scratching, adding pressure that only increases when he slides to a halt. The bike falls on him, topples, crushes him further into the pressure of the ground and he’s huffing out a groan as he tries to catch up with what just happened.

His head hurts, everything is sideways and he’s gritting his teeth as he tries to focus. First thing was to check himself over, so he starts small, flexing his fingers, then moving up his arms, checking his toes, his legs and groaning at the feel of the ground beneath him having put in a good punch to his body. He’s going to be bruised at least, and he can already feel the wetness of his own blood mixing with the damp of the rainwater. Curled beneath the bike he doesn’t move for a while, instead he tries to stay calm, tries to not move too fast and do more damage when he needs to keeps his head.

That’s when he smells it. Beside him is the overturned truck, on its side, and he’d not known why it had lost control and skidded before. But now he has a feeling he knows the answer. He hadn’t seen it, couldn’t see it, with no colour it meant he saw by differentiating between light and dark tones, and with the tarmac slick with rain, he hadn’t been able to see it. Gas. The rain had brought it up, raised it from the tarmac since gas floats, and he’d tried to drive right through the middle of it. No wonder he’d skidded out, the bike unable to find grip over the gas spill, all traction gone as he’d tried to correct himself. Gas had no colour, he’d asked before, when he was younger, when Merle would help him learn what other people saw in the world around them. Like a rainbow floating on water. That’s what Merle had told him about fuel, flammable, ever changing, and hard to see if you had no sense of colour.

He’d missed it, been unable to see the puddle of gas and tell it apart from the puddles of water on the road. It had been invisible to him but he could smell it now. Cursing to himself he hates how he’d managed to screw up something as simple as a personal run, and as the pain begins to seep into his senses, all he can think about is how pissed Rick is going to be with him. His left side feels like one huge bruise, cuts opening and seeping into the water around him as he carefully eases the bike up and off of him. Sliding out from beneath it, he can feel his leg tense, cramping and aching all over, harsh and biting as he tries not to make too much noise. There is no doubt he’s bleeding onto the road, and with the noise of the bike adding to it, he’s sitting prey for any nearby walkers to take advantage off.

But there is nobody coming to get him, no one that thought he couldn’t handle himself, and he knew he needed to get home as soon as possible. He couldn’t stay here, vulnerable, on his own and injured. He needed to get home and get home fast, before his body can catch up on what happened to it and start thinking it can go into shock or something dumb like that. So he grits his teeth, and places both hands to the ground to try and push himself up. It feels like his body is one huge bruise, like a cramp is all the way over his left side and he wants nothing more then to lie down for the next few hours. But he can’t, because if he doesn’t get home, then it could be the end for him.

If he doesn’t get home then Rick would worry, and the man has enough stress in his life as it is.

The bike is still humming beside him, the engine rolling over, ready to go, more ready than he is. It’s scratched all down the left side as well, and he wonders idly if Aaron is going to sigh and tell him he needs to take better care of his toys. That makes him huff out a small laugh, but he knows he can’t stay here, on the ground, in a puddle of rain, gas and his own blood, just thinking about what might be. Because if he didn’t get his ass moving, there won’t be any kind of future for him to wonder about.

It takes a lot of effort to get to his feet, and idly he looks down to try and see how much he’s bleeding. There are dark swirls in the water around him, mixing with the dirt and grime, droplets of a dark, thick fluid spattering to the ground from his fingertips. His side is pretty much all torn, clothing ripped, scratches and road rash on every inch of skin he could see. Somehow seeing it makes it hurt more and he’s hissing as he tries to bring his focus back onto something he can fix right now. It aches, his body throbbing, welts and abrasions making him shiver when he tries to bend and grab up the bike. It’s difficult, it hurts like a damned bitch, but he knows he’s got to do it. Walking home without it might be easier, but he’s not going to give in just because of a little fall.

The effort leaves him panting, harsh breaths falling from his mouth as his chest heaves, the ache and pain on his left hand side feeling wet from the rain and the blood. There is a lot of blood, and he can feel each drop of it falling to the floor, dark, mixing with everything else and leaving him wishing he had been able to see the gas puddle before it had caused such a problem. Rick was going to worry, people were going to assume he was incapable of taking care of himself, and even worse; they’d want him to go see that damned doctor. He didn’t mind her, not really, Tara certainly didn’t mind her, but she wasn’t a full on physician. Dr Denise was a head doctor first and even if she didn’t intend to do it, she always gave him that look. The one that told him she knew he was broken.

Shaking himself away from that line of thought, he instead grabs at the bike, hauling it upright, finding it easier to deal with the pain in his fingers when he wraps them around the handlebars. It’s heavy, it leans against him and he can’t help but let out a grunt as it presses on places that feel too tender to cope with it. But he’s not going to give up. Not now, not ever.

Gritting his teeth he turns off the bike, killing the engine and knowing he’s not got the strength to balance it right now, to dedicate all his focus on rising it and stopping himself from repeating the earlier fall. More injuries would only cause more problems, and besides it was only a mile or so out. They’d walked further than that when they’d been on the road, and that had been without food and water for a good long while. He can do it. He has to.

But holy fuck does it hurt.

Getting the bike rolling is the most difficult part. Heaving the weight of it to get the tyres rolling, having it relying on his body for support is killing him, but he knows there is no other way it’s going to happen. Sure he could leave it here, get home then get someone else to return for it, but he doesn’t want to. This was his run, this was his bike, his supplies that he’d gotten and he wasn’t going to risk anybody else coming out here if he didn’t have to. Rick called him stubborn, he liked to think he was just strong willed. Either way, he’s up, he’s got the bike moving and he’s stumbling along beside it. It’s progress.

He can feel the dribble of wetness over his cheek, and when he reaches up his fingers get smeared with a tack streak of dark fluid. Blood. Head wound. No problem. He’s had them before and he’s sure he’ll have them again. Nothing was blurry, he didn’t have double vision, and he’s pretty sure he remembers his own name and how to count to ten. It’s fine, head wounds always bled a lot, didn’t mean it was bad. He was fine.

Except he’s panting with each step, and he swears each one takes a little longer than the one before. But he’s moving, he’s gritting his teeth and even if his left leg is dragging a little every time, he knows it’s not too bad. Nothing is broken. Least not in his limbs. His chest is making him wheeze, unable to take a deep breath anymore and having to stick to small pants and huffs out through his nose instead. It’s difficult, but he’s never been one to back down at the thought of things being hard, so he staggers on, pushing the bike alongside him, part burden, part crutch to keep him upright as he heads home.

The road is long, but he knows it so well. Beside him are the views he knows, and even if it’s all a shade darker since the rain is still falling, he knows he’s getting close. Alexandria isn’t on the main highway, it’s hidden, a pet project that could be hidden away and lost if it didn’t work out. It’s why it works for them, it’s why they’re trying their damned hardest to keep it safe and he knows he can’t stop now or he’ll never get home. Never get back to Rick.

He’s stumbling for a while, his side aches like a bitch, he swears he can feel his skin stretching, snapping, being pulled tight over road rash and seeping blood and other fluids onto his clothing. He’s going to be a mess, he knows it, but for some reason he’s more upset over the new scratches and gouges in the leather of his vest. Of Merle’s old biker vest that he still wears because he can’t quite give it up. Not yet. He’s never been one to give up on anything before. So he struggles, he finds himself leaning over the bike’s handlebars a little more with each step, but he’s doing it, he’s not going to stop until he gets to where he wants to be.

It’s the prize at the end that keeps him going. Family, home, friends. Rick. God he can’t wait to see Rick again even if he knows the first thing the other man is going to do is curse him out for being an idiot. He’ll take it, because Rick will say it with a tone of voice that lets him know how much he means to the other man. Rick will help him, hold him, worry and fuss and tell him he’s stupid and not stop complaining even as he begins fixing him up one wound at a time. And he wouldn’t flinch, because it’s Rick and even all that time ago when they’d first gotten to know each other, Rick had been the first one he’d stopped flinching about. The other man knows him, sees him how he is and can hold him up without making him feel weak for needing help. Rick knows him, and he never thought he’d be so happy to have another person see him for who he is.

The bike wobbles a little when he stumbles, his left knee giving a little flare of pain, not wanting to bend right and leaving him feel awfully lopsided for a second. But he fights it, forces himself to take the next step, and the next, and keep going until he’s rounding the corner and able to see all their new defences in the distance. The tall fences topped with barbed wire, the wooden spears in the ground to stop vehicles, the fortifications that provide security for all of them. They see him. He knows they do. Because since they got here there is always someone on watch in the old church tower.

He can hear the movement of people as he gets closer, calls of attention, people gathering behind the entrance, and it’s such a huge sign of life from everybody that he feels grateful that he gets to come back to it. People have never been his favourite thing, but he’s getting there, and he knows he would never be complete if he was on his own again. He needs them, he wants them and already he can feel the relieve wash over him when that gate slides open to welcome him in. He’s still far out down the road, limping his way closer, and he feels able to let the wounds ache, he can let his body feel the pain, because he doesn’t have to deal with it by himself anymore.

“Daryl!”

Rick. Rick is there, head of the pack, the man in charge, the one they all look to for direction and he’s never looked so damned determined as he does right now, as he’s running down the road towards him. The others follow, Glenn on Rick’s heels, Carl right after, Michonne and Carol pausing a few feet out and keeping watch for any walkers or other problems. There is no discussion needed because they know each other, they work perfectly and he feels able to stop because they will take care of it all for him now. He doesn’t have to struggle, doesn’t have to push on when he feels like just sitting down and not getting up for a while. Because they’re here, his family is here and willing to take all of the burden off of his shoulders.

He stops, bike at his side, and he waits, because he knows they will deal with everything for him. His chest still aches but he can breathe again, and when Rick is there, ever drawing closer, looking panicked but determined, he knows he can put all his trust in the other man. It’s like a sigh of relief falls out of him and even if he’s sure he looks like a complete state, he doesn’t care, because he knows Rick will have him any way he comes.

“Daryl, what happened?” Rick is there, in his space, not caring about hiding away from anybody when the only people around were family. Hands wind behind his neck, cradling his head and Daryl can hear the panic in the other man’s voice when he speaks. It’s a small tremble, but he can feel it, can hear the utter fear that lies beneath.

“I’m not bit.” It’s always the first reassurance he gives. Every time he comes back injured it’s always the first thing he says. Because immediately it lets them know they have time, there is no time limit and he can feel everybody else breathe easier for it. “Not bit. Was the bike.” He gestures to it, and he can’t even describe how grateful he is when Glenn takes the weight of it, wheeling the vehicle away from him and leaving him able to focus on himself. “Skidded out, bout a mile out.”

Rick looks pissed, but not at him, just at the situation. The rain still falls on them hard, soaking them through and Daryl can feel the trickle of the blood mixed with water run down his face. He wavers on his feet, but Rick is there, his support in so many ways, holding him up and keeping him steady. “Goddamn you’re an idiot.” Rick tells him and he’s smiling, laughing a little that he knows the man so well. “Wheeling the bike all the way back here, should have left it.”

He shakes his head, leaning into Rick’s warmth and uncaring about the ache in his left side that’s started up again. They begin walking back, him limping, but with Rick under his good arm and taking most of the strain, it’s easier. Glenn wheels the bike, Carl walks beside them, looking worried but with his gun out and eyes alert for any danger. It feels safer, like a barrier between himself and all the danger of the outside world. His family will protect him, he knows it and he trusts them to do so when he’s feeling so damned sore all over.

“Wanted to bring it back.” He tries to explain as they make their way through the gates, hearing it slide shut behind them and get locked down, those on lookout making sure to double up just in case the blood trail he’s left draws in walkers or people. “For Lil Asskicker. Found some stuff for her and Lil Asskicker two when he or she arrives.” He tries to explain but Rick is sighing, and Glenn is laughing even if he knows he shouldn’t. But he’s only ever thinking of his family, and they always come first for him.

The grip around him tightens a little, and Rick has that look on his face, the one that usually comes before a huge sigh and a shake of the head. Daryl knows him too well, knows that he’s going to be getting a stern talking to whether he likes it or not, but unlike when he was a kid, he doesn’t mind it. Because when Rick did it, it was because he worried about him, not because he wanted to berate him. They move together towards their house, and he knows he’s getting a good few looks as they trail through the town, a line of dark spattered droplets following in his wake. The rain mixes with them but doesn’t wash it away and he knows everybody else is still worried about him even if he doesn’t want them to be.

“Shall I get Denise?” Tara is at the door as they move up the steps, him limping, his left hand side is one giant bruise and ache, Rick still beside him, keeping him up. He’s grateful for her sympathy, but he really doesn’t feel like dodging the keen, searching eyes from the Doctor. Groaning a little he tries to think of how to turn down the offer politely, because he doesn’t want to sound ungrateful, but thankfully Rick is there first.

“No.” His partner helps him move, never stopping for a break and moving to help him get up the stairs, keeping him going with an encouraging strength. “If it’s road rash it needs to be cleaned out first, then sterilised and wrapped. It’ll be easier for us to get it over and done with in the shower in one go rather than take our time. She can come check on him later, I’ll make sure to mention if there is any damage we can’t deal with ourselves.” Rick tells her and there is no air of disrespect in his words, just pure knowledge of how Daryl is and understanding of how to do this in a way that won’t make him feel worse. He nods in agreement, preferring Rick’s plan over anything else.

Because Rick gets him, Rick knows what he needs and that he won’t ask for it by himself. So he says it for him and they trail up the stairs slowly, Glenn and Carl coming in through the front door with the saddlebags from the bike. Usually it would be something they did together, the whole family going through a haul and enjoying finding what he’d brought. Daryl figured it was probably the closest they were ever gonna get to Christmas nowadays. But this time he’s more than happy to have it be just he and Rick heading to the bathroom, his other half holding him up and keeping him steady.

It hurts like a fucking bitch when Rick begins helping him remove his clothing. The shower is started, steam beginning to fill the bathroom around them as they start the difficult task. He winces, but Rick is there, steady hands pressing over his uninjured side, helping him out when fabric gets stuck in the scrapes on his skin. The vest thankfully isn’t torn. It’s battered, with new scratches over it, and a tear through the left wing, but he knows Carol will be able to fix that right up for him. It’s tossed to the side for the moment and it leaves Rick able to look over him without another layer hiding him away.

“You look like shit.” Rick tells him and really he doesn’t even have to look in the mirror to know the man is telling the truth.

“Feel it too.” He mumbles, the fingers of his good hand trying to undo the buttons on his shirt, leaving him swearing when he can’t quite manage it. But Rick is there, reaching out to help, meeting his eyes and letting him know that it’s going to hurt as he prepares to remove the shirt properly. The fabric is plastered to some of the wounds, the wet blood having caught it up and as it dries making it stick to the open sores. “Do it. Quick, like a band aid.” He braces himself, tensing when Rick quickly tugs on the left side of his shirt.

Daryl almost crumples at the pain, it feels like Rick has ripped off the whole of his skin along with the shirt and he can’t help the bark of pain that is ripped out of him. He shakes his head, trying to focus and stop himself from wavering, feeling more than seeing Rick move to him, holding him and supporting him when everything fades to a lighter shade of grey before him. The fabric is hanging loose off his chest at least, but the thought of having to repeat that again for his arm, his pants and anything else makes him whimper at the thought. He knows it has to be done, it has to be removed from the wounds before they wash them, risk of infection and all, but hell it felt like he was being flayed alive.

“Rick I can’t-“

“No. No okay, not again.” A hand at the back of his neck, bringing him in close, lips pressing against his own until he can breathe again and know the other man has him. It’s too much to carry on like that, and he’s pressing in to Rick’s steady body even if it still hurts to move. “Let’s get into the shower, see if we can’t soak the blood, make it easier to peel it off you. Might have to sacrifice some of it to the scissors to get it off without hurting you.”

It’s a plan, and even if he knows it’s going to sting like a bitch, he knows the wounds need cleaning out, the dirt and grit of the road need to be removed or he risks a hell of a bad infection otherwise. It’s daunting, he knows it’s going to hurt, but he’s ready for it, especially when Rick is there beside him, shrugging off his own clothing in preparation of being there with him. He toes off his boots, that’s the easy part, and Rick crouches to get off his socks for him. It should be ridiculous, but it’s just them, it’s only them, and Rick has never made him feel anything other than comfortable.

So he follows when Rick steps into the shower, inching closer to the other man, trying to use his body as a shield against the heat and sting that the water brings to his sensitive flesh. He knows Rick can hear his gasp, his whimpers of pain and see the way he flinches, and tries to curl in on himself in a way well rehearsed throughout the years.

“It’s okay.” Rick tells him, that hand behind his neck again, steadying him, easing him through it when he’s closed his eyes to try and make it hurt less. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.” And he knows that Rick would never lie to him.

His hands are curled into fists, ready to lash out as always when he’s in pain, ready to fight and defend himself if he has to. But Rick is there, a gentle hand keeping him steady, keeping him centred and able to stand the wash of water falling over him. It hurts like a bitch, the warmth stinging at first, the pressure of the water digging in to fresh wounds and making him want to howl in pain. Unlacing his fingers from the fists he reaches out to grab Rick, to wind them in the hair at the back of his neck and tug him down for a deep kiss. For something to ground him and let him hiss out the pain into Rick’s mouth as he’s taken care of.

Rick moans against him, but his hands aren’t sweeping over his body to cop a feel, instead they smooth over the fabric that’s now soaked and gently begin peeling it off and away. They get the shirt off his right hand side first, and Rick is careful when he begins working on the edges of the road rash, trying to get the blood wet enough to let go of where it was trying to scab over and keep the fabric stuck to him. His shoulder is throbbing, a searing pain that tugs and jerks with each inch that is worked free, but it’s getting there, it’s working and he’s pressing harder into Rick when he’s able to get his left arm free too. The shirt falls to the floor with a wet slap, dirty, ruined, covered in blood and even if he can’t see colour he can see the change in the colour of the water as it slips down the drain.

The kiss is still harsh, but now Rick has taken control from him and he’s moaning, finding that it helps to let Rick give him what he knows he needs. It still hurts, each sweep of Rick’s fingers over his body makes the wounds sing in pain, but it’s necessary, and when he has Rick biting at his lips and tongue, he can focus on something else. They can’t press all the way together, but Rick’s hands move over him, palm sweeping over wounds, rubbing them fast to get any grit and dust out of them as fast as he can. Daryl can feel as they start to seep, as blood drips down his skin with the spray of the shower and stains his skin before being washed away.

“Pants next.” Rick pulls back enough to murmur against his lips, voice hoarse, rough and full of a strength that Daryl needs to lean on right now. He can feel his legs are trembling; his whole body is tender, every nerve screaming out in shock at being violated and scrubbed when it wants to be left alone. But it’s necessary, and he knows Rick would never, ever hurt him unless it was needed. “Gonna have to cut them, make it easier.”

Daryl nods, and there is really no part of him that cares about losing his jeans. They were already far beyond saving, ripped, torn, both knees long gone, and honestly he’d just kept wearing them because it meant more clothes for someone else. He has to brace himself on the wall of the shower, leaning his good shoulder against the tile and feeling himself breathe heavy as Rick drops to his knees to begin cutting them free from his body. The ties at his ankles are snipped easily, his way of keeping ticks from using him as a host gone in seconds. He wouldn’t trust just anybody near him with a pair of scissors, but with Rick it’s different. Because Rick knows how to help him feel comfortable. Rick knows how to make sure he can see everything he’s doing, and to take his time and let him be aware of where the blades of the scissors are at all times. They both know it’s a reason he hasn’t cut his hair in so long, and Rick is careful with the scissors as he works, even more careful than when he’d used them to cut his own beard.

The holes at his knees make it easy, and Rick snips through the rest of the fabric in no time, lifting his feet and helping him slip them free. The denim joins the pile of fabric in the corner and Daryl thinks he must look ridiculous in his new jean shorts. Rick hushes his small huff of impatience, one hand on his good thigh, holding him, giving him something to focus on as Rick begins cutting up through the fabric. Up his thigh, through the denim as high as he can get comfortably before doing the same on the other side. Already Daryl can feel the relief on his wounded side, how the fabric soaks in the spray and begins slipping free from clinging to his injuries now it’s not having to conform to the shape. When Rick reaches up to unbutton them for him, already they’re loose, and it doesn’t take a lot of effort to wriggle them down, using the cuts to widen them down without having them touch his injured thigh.

Without the covering of any clothing aside from his soaking boxers, Daryl can see how bad it is. His body looks a wreck, two sides of completely different person almost. His right side is its normal pale grey to his eyes, even the usual layer of dirt having been rinsed off of him and leaving him clean. But his left hand side is, to put it lightly, fucked. There are huge wounds, open, dark, so harsh and black against his skin, ripped open, and no wonder it fucking hurts so bad. They look like burns, black and charred to him, like paper that’s been burnt through with a cigarette.

He hisses when Rick cups his hands to gather some water, pouring it over the huge dark rash on his thigh. It makes his muscles twitch and there is the urge to kick him away and try to escape the person making him hurt. But Rick is there, hushing him, the palm on his thigh doing what needs to be done quickly, getting it over and done with as fast as possible. It aches, makes Daryl twitch and try to find some relief in leaning harder against the back wall of the shower cubicle. The last barrier is his underwear, and Rick eases them down easily enough, letting them slip to join the pile before rising from his kneeling position to stand before him.

“I know it hurts.” Rick cups his chin, getting his attention, his focus, making sure to meet his eyes as he stands before him. It helps, and without even thinking about it Rick is blocking the hard spray of the water, stopping it from hurting him further and instead just using his own wet hands to wash over his body. It still hurts, but it’s smoother, easier pain that he can see coming, and then it’s soothed over by Rick’s touch over him. “But we’ve got to make sure they’re clean. Can’t risk an infection.”

He knows that, so he nods, but he is craving any kind of touch that won’t make him ache so much. Leaning closer he rests his forehead against Rick’s shoulder, letting the other man continue to wash him, his hands coming to rest on Rick’s hips, and the only twitch they make is when it hurts. Rick doesn’t mock him, doesn’t stop him from getting the contact he needs, the contact he craves when he feels so on edge and in pain. He needs Rick to be his rock right now, to hold him steady and give him someone to rely on when he’s feeling vulnerable. Rick leans into him, shielding him from the spray, continuing to rub over the sores, and even if he has to grit his teeth, he knows Rick is only doing what is best for him.

“How’d it happen?” Rick asks, fingers brushing over the edges, pressing his palm over the wounds harder, getting rid of the tiny catches of ripped skin and knowing he can take the pain.

It makes him hiss but he can bare it, he can take it and Rick doesn’t demean him by making things softer for him. Leaning on his shoulder, Daryl takes his time, breathing a little heavier through the sharp pain when Rick hits a tender spot, but not asking him to stop. “Gas spillage.” He mumbles, fingers catching on Rick’s hips, digging in to share the pain he’s going through. Rick hushes him again, letting him get it out before he continues explaining. “Rain brought it up, I couldn’t see it. Can’t tell the difference in the wet.” He shrug his good shoulder, because it’s always hard to describe what he sees when he can’t imagine it being any different for everyone else. “It’s all just dark to me, didn’t see it until I was already down, till I’d lost traction.”

Rick has never treated him any different for what he’s got. Never assumed he couldn’t do something just because he can’t see colour. And truly it affects so little that there was no reason to ever assume he’d have a problem with anything. But the gas had been different, and he feels pretty damned stupid for making such a simply mistake. Of course Rick just nods along, probably more than glad that it wasn’t because of a walker, or any real danger that he’d managed to go and get himself hurt. Probably cursing himself for allowing him to go out on his own again.

“Hey, accidents happen.” Rick tells him, snagging his chin and turning him to face him properly. “Ain’t nothing we can do to stop that. Only difference nowadays is what would have been simply a quick visit to the E.R. and a prescription for some antibiotics, could become a problem if we don’t treat it right.”

Daryl grunts in acknowledgement, not protesting when Rick kisses him deeply again, tongue stroking over his lower lip before slipping inside his mouth. It still hurts all over, but he doesn’t care, because he wants to press up against Rick’s body, even if it makes the sores feel like they’re burning again. It’s worth it, and even if it hurts he lets Rick tug him further under the spray, enough to get the water into his hair and wash out the wound at his temple. His hands clench into fists again, but Rick kisses him harder before scrubbing at it, getting out the grit and dirt and ensuring that it doesn’t become a problem later.

Even when Rick is done and turns off the water, they remain pressed together for a while, both of them naked and dripping water, but it’s about more than sex right now. Rick holds him, not hard or close enough to hurt, but enough to be felt. Enough to let him know how real this is. There is nothing on this earth that he would trade this for; not even the ability to see colour. Because even if he has to ask Rick what colour his eyes are, at least he gets to spend every morning waking up and meeting their gaze.

He’s not broken, Rick has made sure he knows that, and he’s never considered his vision to be anything more than a quirk. Rick likes that he’s open about it with him, and there have been nights that they’ve just laid in best together him asking about the simplest things and having Rick answer. There was never any laughter, instead it just always felt like Rick was opening up the world for him, sharing something that’s always been hidden from his sight. Telling him about the colour of the sky, describing rainbows and fragments of colour and trying to take on the task of explaining something as indescribable as colour to somebody who had no point of reference. Sometimes it’s simple, just Rick telling him that Judith is wearing a yellow dress that day, the colour of the sun, of buttercups, warm and bright, a colour of happiness and hope, one that makes her smile seem all the brighter. He sees it in shades, a different tone of a warm grey that feels lighter, feels safe and like it belongs there. He enjoys those moments, and it’s why he knows Rick is always going to be there for him.

The other man takes the time to describe the little things that everybody else takes for granted.

It works for them, it helps him feel more complete and he knows that Rick is the same. His body aches, throbs as they press together, but it lets him know he’s alive and he’ll take it. They move together, out of the shower and Rick does all the moving for him since it aches to even think of taking care of himself. So Rick does it all for him, grabbing the towel and quickly drying himself off before moving to him, patting over the sores, pressing just hard enough to take the worst of the wetness away and leave them clean and ready to be treated.

Usually having somebody else helping him dress would make him feel like a baby, but with Rick it only ever feels like help he knows he can accept. At the moment he’s only able to have underwear and a vest on, leaving the wounds accessible and easier to treat if clothing can’t get stuck to it all. Rick knows him, doesn’t even consider asking him to head downstairs in front of the others to be treated. Instead he’s led to their bedroom, lowered onto the bed on his good side and left for a few moments while Rick heads to get their medical supplies.

It’s like heaven compared to the toughness of the road he’d been on and even if his left side is aching, his right side feels so damned comfortable against the soft pillows. He’s not on his usual side of the bed, instead he’s on Rick’s and burying his face in the pillow means he can smell the other man. It’s comforting, it’s something he didn’t think he could have ever had before now, but it’s his and it’s real. Rick helps fill a gap inside of himself he didn’t even know was there and he loves it.

“Denise and Tara brought along the best they’ve got. You don’t have an iodine allergies do you?” Rick asks when he returns, a box of medical supplies on one hip, and Judith on the other. Daryl smiles when he sees the blanket with the stuffed toy cat on the corner in her chubby hands. Rick kicks the door closed behind himself, giving them privacy, shielding him from everybody else when he’s still injured and vulnerable. Rick can read him so well without him even opening his mouth at all.

Judith is placed onto the bed beside him, and immediately his girl is babbling to him, crawling over to grab at his hair and tug on it like she always does. It gives him a distraction, and he appreciates getting to see her, the one person that won’t make him feel uncomfortable to be so exposed before them. The blanket is as soft as he remembers, and she seems to like it enough, grasping it and running it through her fingers before lifting it for him to see. It makes him smile and for a second it feels like it was all worth it. She’s easy to entertain, poking his tongue out at her and letting her tell him all about her day in baby babbles and squeals. It helps, and it’s easy to keep her from touching where he’s injured and prone to infection.

Rick uses his distraction to do the dirty work. He sprays the iodine over his wounds; turning them a sickly gruel like grey colour and making him wrinkle his nose at the smell. But if it’ll keep the infections at bay then he’ll allow it.

“You been good Asskicker?” Daryl focuses on her instead, loving the way she looks up as the nickname and gives him a drooly smile with her three teeth showing off. He strokes her hair and lets her grab at his fingers, bringing them to her mouth to chew on them. He figures he’s clean enough from the shower to not be an infection risk.

“If her first word is Asskicker I’m gonna have to hit you.” Rick reminds him for the hundredth time, covering all the sores with the sterile spray. It’s not pleasant, but he knows it needs to be done so he tries not to squirm so much. “I swear if it’s not bad enough that Carl is picking up on your language…”

“He’s a teenager, he’s supposed to be picking up on bad words.” Daryl points out, poking at Judith’s nose and letting her try to catch his fingers each time with a squeal. He winces when antiseptic cream is applied to the deeper wounds, the ones that they’re going to have to keep an eye on just in case. He does try to curb his language around the kids, but he’s so used to it sometimes he doesn’t even notice. “You keep doin’ that and he’s gonna be learning new ones soon enough.” He grunts at the pain, tries to focus on Judith, but it’s hard when it feels like Rick is running broken glass over his raw nerve endings.

“Just a little longer.” Rick soothes him, adding more cream, covering each spot that needs it before reaching for the dressings. Daryl hates using up their medical supplies when they don’t have that many, but as Rick keeps telling him, these are the sorts of injuries they save them for. “What was so important that you had to bring the bike back right away?” The other man asks as he begins covering the wounds on his thigh.

“Her.” Daryl immediately replies, tugging the blanket that Judith is holding and draping it over her head, hiding her from view before tugging it off, making her squeal at the simple game of peek-a-boo. “She deserves everything in the world, and I didn’t want to lose it.” He admits, rubbing the soft fabric of the blanket between his fingers. There is a pause between them, only interrupted with the happy squeals of Judith hiding beneath her new blanket and then popping free. “Got other stuff too, but I knew she’d like this.” He gestures to the blanket idly, and for a moment he can’t read the look on Rick’s face.

It looks like he’s trying not to laugh, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, trying to break free and bloom into full on mirth. Squinting a little he reaches over to get Rick’s attention, getting him to meet his eyes and that’s when the smile breaks over his lips, teeth showing in a hint of a grin as he gives a small chuckle.

“What?” He asks, and when Rick has finished covering the last of the sores on his shoulder, he’s slowly and gently moving so he can see him better, propping himself up on the pillows as he waits for an answer. Rick gives a shake of his head, clearly trying to shrug it off as nothing, but if it’s got his partner laughing after being so caught up in his injury then he wants to know what it is. Judith is giggling beside him, and even if she has no idea what it’s all about, it still feels a little like he’s being ganged up on by the Grimes family. “Hey, come on what’s so funny?” He asks, nudging to Rick’s side and wanting to know what has brought him out of his worry.

Rick shrugs again, leaning over to press a kiss against his lips, but he’s not getting out of it that easy. His partner brushes his hair from his eyes, checking on the head wound and placing a steri-strip over it to keep it closed. Daryl hates when he tries to avoid answering him, and he huffs a little into the next kiss, nipping at Rick’s lip for a response. Finally Rick sighs, sitting beside him on the bed and lifting Judith into his lap, the new blanket trailing over Daryl’s stomach lightly as she’s moved. “It doesn’t matter, she loves it anyway.” Rick tells him, reaching out to run a finger over the new blanket as Judith brings it to her mouth to chew on.

Frowning a little he studies the blanket, reaches out to run his fingers over it, feeling the softness. It looks all right, pale in colour to him, a light grey that he knows to associate with baby things. Everything Judith wore was pale, a warm shade of grey that spoke of innocence and freshness. “What’s wrong with it?” He asks, completely lost as to what’s the problem with it.

Another kiss is pressed to his lip, soft and caring, one that spoke of silent apology and understanding, and not an ounce of blame. “Remember when we spoke about baby stuff? And how usually it’s split by gender? Pink for a girl and…”

Groaning lightly Daryl leans back against the pillows, staring up at the ceiling and letting out a sigh of annoyance when he understands what Rick is telling him. Sure it doesn’t really matter, the fact that Judith had anything was better than nothing, but now he feels like a fool for being so determined to bring it back immediately. “Blue for a boy.” He finishes the sentence, reaching out for the blanket and squinting at it, as if it might suddenly spring into colour for him. Of course it doesn’t, and he huffs a little in annoyance.

“Don’t worry, it’s the thought that counts.” Rick tells him, pressing a soft kiss to his temple and smiling as Judith continues to play with the apparently blue blanket, chewing on the fabric and burbling around it. “She loves it anyway, it’s not like she cares.” He points out, but Daryl can’t help the annoyance that creeps over him over his mistake. Usually he doesn’t care about colour, it doesn’t usually affect his life, but today seemed to just be a day of problems caused by his disability. “She loves anything you get her.”

Still he can’t let out a small huff, leaning in to Rick’s soft kisses, but feeling the aches and soreness of his wounds flare up as he moves, just to kick him when he’s down. Judith certainly doesn’t seem to care, she’s eager to wave the blanket around and latch onto the cat toy on the corner, but it’s still a mistake that is going to be annoying him for a while. Even if he doesn’t know what colour is like, even if he’s never cared about it before, sometimes he wishes something so simple could be obvious to him as it is to everybody else. But then Rick kisses him properly, catching his attention, making him sigh and moan into the kiss and feel grateful for what he does have.

Because even if he can’t see colour, so long as he can see Rick, he feels like there is nothing else in the world that he is missing. Maybe he didn’t know the beauty of a rainbow, or understand the fascination of a bunch of flowers, and hell he really didn’t get fashion at all. But he has Rick, and though everything else in the world is muted shades of black, white and grey for him; Rick is something else, something he can’t explain. Even if he doesn’t know colours, he thinks that Rick is most perfect thing he will ever see in his life, and he never intends to stop admiring him.

“You think we’ll be lucky, and Lil Asskicker two will be a boy?”

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: First prompt down and only a lot more to go. I had fun with this one, and I had a huge surge of Rickyl love sweep over me after getting to see the latest photoshoot with Andy and Norm. Hopefully there will be more prompt fills posted soon, hope you guys enjoy! Please remember all your comments are hugely appreciated, and you can contact me through here or my tumblr anytime. <3


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